A Voyage to Arcturus by David Lindsay (reading strategies book TXT) 📗

He climbed abstractedly to his feet. Tydomin was talking to her dead husband. She was peering into the hideous face of ivory, and fondling his violet hair. When she perceived Maskull, she hastily kissed the withered lips, and got up from her knees. Lifting the corpse with all three arms, she staggered with it to the extreme edge of the gulf and, after an instant’s hesitation, allowed it to drop into the lava. It disappeared immediately without sound; a metallic splash came up. That was Crimtyphon’s funeral.

“Now I am ready, Maskull.”

He did not answer, but stared past her. Another figure was standing, erect and mournful, not far behind her. It was Joiwind. Her face was wan, and there was an accusing look in her eyes. Maskull knew that it was a phantasm, and that the real Joiwind was miles away, at Poolingdred.

“Turn around, Tydomin,” he said oddly, “and tell me what you see behind you.”

“I don’t see anything,” she answered, looking around.

“But I see Joiwind.”

Just as he was speaking, the apparition vanished.

“Now I present you with your life, Tydomin. She wishes it.”

The woman fingered her chin thoughtfully.

“I little expected I should ever be beholden for my life to one of my own sex—but so be it. What really happened to you in my cavern?”

“I really saw Krag.”

“Yes, some miracle must have taken place.” She suddenly shivered. “Come, let us leave this horrible spot. I shall never come here again.”

“Yes,” said Maskull, “it stinks of death and dying. But where are we to go—what are we to do? Take me to Sant. I must get away from this hellish land.”

Tydomin remained standing, dull and hollow-eyed. Then she gave an abrupt, bitter little laugh. “We make our journey together in singular stages. Rather than be alone, I’ll come with you—but you know that if I set foot in Sant they will kill me.”

“At least set me on the way. I wish to get there before night. Is it possible?”

“If you are willing to take risks with nature. And why should you not take risks today? Your luck holds. But someday or other it won’t hold—your luck.”

“Let us start,” said Maskull. “The luck I’ve had so far is nothing to brag about.”

Blodsombre was over when they set off; it was early afternoon, but the heat seemed more stifling than ever. They made no more pretence at conversation; both were buried in their own painful thoughts. The land fell away from Disscourn in all other directions, but toward Sant there was a gentle, persistent rise. Its dark, distant plateau continued to dominate the landscape, and after walking for an hour they seemed none the nearer to it. The air was stale and stagnant.

By and by, an upright object, apparently the work of man, attracted Maskull’s notice. It was a slender tree stem, with the bark still on, imbedded in the stony ground. From the upper end three branches sprang out, pointing aloft at a sharp angle. They were stripped to twigs and leaves and, getting closer, he saw that they had been artificially fastened on, at equal distances from each other.

As he stared at the object, a strange, sudden flush of confident vanity and self-sufficiency seemed to pass through him, but it was so momentary that he could be sure of nothing.

“What may that be, Tydomin?”

“It is Hator’s Trifork.”

“And what is its purpose?”

“It’s a guide to Sant.”

“But who or what is Hator?”

“Hator was the founder of Sant—many thousands of years ago. He laid down the principles they all live by, and that trifork is his symbol. When I was a little child my father told me the legends, but I’ve forgotten most of them.”

Maskull regarded it attentively.

“Does it affect you in any way?”

“And why should it do that?” she said, dropping her lip scornfully. “I am only a woman, and these are masculine mysteries.”

“A sort of gladness came over me,” said Maskull, “but perhaps I am mistaken.”

They passed on. The scenery gradually changed in character. The solid parts of the land grew more continuous, the fissures became narrower and more infrequent. There were now no more subsidences or upheavals. The peculiar nature of the Ifdawn Marest appeared to be giving place to a different order of things.

Later on, they encountered a flock of pale blue jellies floating in the air. They were miniature animals. Tydomin caught one in her hand and began to eat it, just as one eats a luscious pear plucked from a tree. Maskull, who had fasted since early morning, was not slow in following her example. A sort of electric vigour at once entered his limbs and body, his muscles regained their elasticity, his heart began to beat with hard, slow, strong throbs.

“Food and body seem to agree well in this world,” he remarked smiling.

She glanced toward him. “Perhaps the explanation is not in the food, but in your body.”

“I brought my body with me.”

“You brought your soul with you, but that’s altering fast, too.”

In a copse they came across a short, wide tree, without leaves, but possessing a multitude of thin, flexible branches, like the tentacles of a cuttlefish. Some of these branches were moving rapidly. A furry animal, somewhat resembling a wildcat, leaped about among them in the most extraordinary way. But the next minute Maskull was shocked to realise that the beast was not leaping at all, but was being thrown from branch to branch by the volition of the tree, exactly as an imprisoned mouse is thrown by a cat from paw to paw.

He watched the spectacle a while with morbid interest.

“That’s a gruesome reversal of rôles, Tydomin.”

“One can see you’re disgusted,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “But that is because you are a slave to words. If you called that plant an animal, you would find its occupation perfectly natural and pleasing. And why should you not call it an animal?”

“I am quite aware that, as long as I remain in the Ifdawn Marest, I shall go on listening to this sort of language.”

They trudged along for an hour or more without talking. The day became overcast. A thin mist began to shroud the landscape, and the sun changed into an immense ruddy disk which could be stared at without flinching. A chill, damp wind blew against them. Presently it grew still darker, the sun disappeared and, glancing first at his companion and then at himself, Maskull noticed that their skin and clothing